


The Echo of Your Melody

by borrowedphrases



Category: Kamen Rider Kiva
Genre: Consensual Sex, Fade to Black, M/M, Non-Consensual Kissing, Time Travel, mentioned canon character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-16
Updated: 2016-12-16
Packaged: 2018-09-08 21:07:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8862052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/borrowedphrases/pseuds/borrowedphrases
Summary: Jirou goes through the Door of Time to see Otoya one last time.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyIsana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyIsana/gifts).



> It's always been striking to me the difference in character between 1980s Jirou and 2000s Jirou. Isolation and loss can do a lot to a person, even if that person isn't human.

Jirou stands at the Door of Time, as he has many times before, gazing at its stoic wooden surface, the antique knob and the sturdy frame. It's a gateway to what was, what has been, what has shaped the present, and possibly what can be changed. He's stood here for hours going over the events of the past, considering his options, and coming up empty handed every time. If he could he would save him, go back and fix things, but he can't sort out how to untangle _his_ fate from the fate of the world, from the fate of Wataru and Jirou's own. By the time Otoya first used Dark Kiva, everything was hanging too much in the balance. 

Jirou reaches forward and runs his fingertips over the smooth surface of the door, his breaths coming slow and shallow, as if breathing any harder would interrupt something deeply important. The wood is warmer than the room, somehow heated from the other side. The side of potential, of energy none left living truly understands. 

"Why don't you just go and see him?" Ramon's cheerful voice echoes off the hallway walls. It would be grating, possibly even startling, if Jirou hadn't grown used to it so long ago.

Jirou feels a low growl start to rumble in the back of his throat, one he can't entirely control. It's not directed at Ramon, not really. It's more directed at the entire situation of his life for the past twenty years. Lingering in a castle with little more to do than think and reflect. And mourn.

Ramon sighs heavily, and Jirou can hear the eye roll in his voice, even if he hasn't turned to see it. "You don't have to _change_ anything, you know. You can just go _see_ him."

"It's none of your business." Jirou snaps with a snarl of his lips, turning on his heels and moving away from the door, away from Ramon, away from temptation.

 

The hours of the night tick on and Jirou feels more restless than he has in decades. Like when he used to run with his pack under the bright full moon, his skin electrified by the hunt, or the heat of the rut, or simply the pure joy of running with his kin. It's an itch he can no longer scratch, can't even attempt to alleviate, not with present company. Neither of his current companies would understand, their kinds are different from what his is, or rather was. 

He finds himself standing in front of the door again, almost as if it drew him here. As if it's a living being that called to him, got under his skin, made his chest ache and his heart heavy. Like that old melody played by delicate fingers over carefully tuned strings.

Before he can think more about it, find some scrap of rationality that he never truly possessed, he's pushing the door open, the winds of time whipping through his hair and around his ankles. He closes his eyes and tries to ride them out, find the perfect moment to arrive. When they're not truly enemies, but things haven't gotten completely out of hand yet. 

He knows where he is even before he opens his eyes just by the song he hears drifting through the cool air. He can smell far away rain on the breeze, and a scent so familiar it's like a strange sort of coming home. The earthy sweetness of rosin mingling with a cologne he used to hate, but has missed since it stopped being made. There's also a hint of tobacco, and a lingering whisper of freshly brewed coffee. 

It's a short walk through the gate and to the door, Jirou's heart echoing in his ears with each forward step he takes. He's not one to hesitate, not one to back down from a challenge, and this is something he's been dreaming of doing every night since it happened.

He raps on the door. Then he waits.

Light spills out into the evening, across the toes of Jirou's shoes, and for just a moment he considers drawing back, like he shouldn't be touched by it. Then he looks up, and he sees _that face_ , and he steps fully forward into the warmth spilling from that home.

"Jirou?" Otoya questions, stepping back so Jirou doesn't collide with him as he invites himself in. "What are you doing here? What are you _wearing_?"

"Shut up." Jirou growls, kicking the door shut behind him and walking Otoya back until his shoulders hit a wall. He cups Otoya's face between his hands, holding his head still as he gazes at him, as he breathes him in. 

Then he kisses him. _Hard._ Hands sliding up into his impossibly soft hair, threading, tangling, gripping and tugging, nails scraping lightly at his scalp. Their chests pressed together, he holds Otoya in place with his larger size, their hips lining up in a way that's more frustrating than ideal. It's not a chaste kiss, nor is it gentle. It's deep, a force of tongue and teeth, growls and what could almost be described as a groan. It's everything Jirou has wanted to say in the last twenty years distilled into one potent kiss. If this is all they end up sharing, if Otoya ends up shoving him away and kicking him out, then this one kiss will be - _has to be_ \- enough.

Otoya doesn't pull away, nor does he try to shove Jirou off him. One of his hands rests between them, palm pressed against Jirou's chest, his other hand is down at his side, palm to the wall. He tips his head back and closes his eyes, opens his mouth to Jirou as he sighs through his nose. There's a tremble that Jirou can feel running through him, and Jirou realizes it's because Otoya is growing weak in the knees. 

Jirou breaks the kiss much more gently than he started it, his eyes opening, but his eyelids heavy. His lips tingle, warm from Otoya's skin, but he's certain his aren't nearly as pink as Otoya's.

"Jirou," Otoya begins, pausing to clear his throat. "That was, ah- That was quite unexpected."

The way Otoya licks his lips is borderline hypnotic, Jirou's Wolfen senses kicking in, scent and taste becoming more amplified, more detailed and precise. It's intoxicating, and if he lingers this way much longer, he won't be able to pull away.

"Want you." He manages to growl out, as his hips roll once against Otoya's like punctuation. 

Otoya's eyes close as another sigh takes him, this one wavery, almost a whimper. A new scent joins the others, arousal, and Jirou can feel his eyes shift slightly, his pupils narrowing, his vision changing to catch the fluttery waves of heat radiating from Otoya.

Otoya draws in a shuddery breath, his hand sliding along the wall for purchase, then lifting, coming to rest over Jirou's hip. His fingers press at his waistline, at protrusion of bone and dip between muscles, then his touch slides inward, going between them until his palm rests flat against Jirou's lower stomach. He lifts his gaze to meet Jirou's, eyes narrowing, searching for something. Jirou doesn't know what, but he waits, he hovers, he holds his instincts back as fiercely as he can.

"Okay, Puppy." Otoya speaks finally, lifting himself up off the wall and bringing his lips in against Jirou's. He's much more delicate than Jirou, but not unpassionate. It's slow, and _deep_ , like he's trying to touch Jirou's soul through the simple act of one kiss. Jirou goes still through it, lets Otoya control it, savoring every artful movement of his tongue, each little inhale and sigh he makes. If he only has one chance at this, one night, then he's going to fight to commit every detail to memory. 

Otoya draws back slowly from the kiss, sucking on Jirou's bottom lip before releasing it with a little snap. He gazes up at Jirou through his lashes, a playfulness in his smile that Jirou hasn't been on the receiving end of before, and heat pools in Jirou's gut before spreading downward through his thighs. 

With a sound that's almost a howl, Jirou hauls Otoya up and off his feet, tossing him over his shoulder and resting one steadying hand over his rear. Otoya laughs, and wiggles, and Jirou barks a laugh in answer as he follows the scent of sleep to Otoya's bed, dropping him down onto it and crawling over him.

"I miss your leather." Otoya comments as his hands deftly work the buttons of Jirou's shirt open. 

"I'll wear it again." Jirou is less careful with Otoya's shirt, just tearing it open, buttons scattering across the bed and onto the floor. He swallows the indignant sound Otoya makes with another bruising kiss, and then the only sounds Otoya makes are gasps and moans, as Jirou's mouth works down along his jaw to his throat. 

 

Morning comes far too soon for Jirou's liking, sunlight creeping steadily across the floor toward the bed. He'll have to leave soon, he knows he can't linger for too long in this time or risk running into his past self, or raising too many question from Otoya, or changing time all together. 

Not yet though, he has time to linger. Otoya's back is pressed against his chest, Jirou's strong arm wrapped firmly around his middle. Soft, sex messed hair fans out across the pillow above Otoya's head, his cheek resting against Jirou's bicep. As he sleeps he makes a gentle little wheezing sound with each exhale, not quite loud enough to count as a snore. Jirou finds it oddly endearing, a new sensation for him, and he does his best to keep from waking Otoya.

The night before is mostly a blur to him. He remembers arriving and kissing Otoya with absolute clarity, but once they made it to the bed his memories dissolve into feelings more than sharp details. The certain sound of Otoya's moan right before he climaxed, the way his fingers pressed into Jirou's shoulder blades near hard enough to leave bruises, how Jirou's own pleasure didn't come in one big burst, but wave after building wave as Otoya showed him his boasts were much more than bluffs.

There's a bruise on Otoya's shoulder where Jirou bit him right at his peak, when he took him from behind, the smooth graceful plane of his back arcing against Jirou's chest. Otoya speaks of people's music, of melodies complimenting and combining. It's mostly bullshit to Jirou, but last night he got a taste of that world view, of that belief.

Now he has to go, swiftly before Otoya wakes up. It's better for him to be alone when he wakes, to think that Jirou was just scratching a one-time itch. Otoya can't be attached to him in this way. He needs to be with Maya, needs to father Wataru. He needs to die. Time must march on as it did, much as it kills a little part of Jirou to admit that.

Jirou sighs, watching Otoya's hair shift with his breath, and then leans in and presses a brush of a kiss to the back of his neck. It's good that Otoya seems to be a heavy sleeper, barely stirring as Jirou slides one arm away from him, the other out from behind his head. He dresses swiftly, buttoning his shirt up as he nears the door, and doesn't spare a backwards glance before he leaves.

 

"How was it?" Ramon asks him once he returns through the door. There's a smile on the boy-creature's face, shining playful in his eyes.

Jirou growls in answer, flashing bright Wolfen eyes at his companion. Ramon giggles, far too cheerfully, and Jirou has to restrain the impulse to claw at him.

"Well, hopefully you got that out of your system." The Merman's voice is a sing-song, echoing like raindrops on a still pond. It's none of his concern, but Jirou's been pining like a lost dog for decades, and he can't really find a comeback to the comment. So he feigns disinterest, huffing as he brushes past Ramon. He walks away from the Door of Time, away from his memories both old and new. It's time to leave the past in the past, if he can.

He's almost to the main hall when he hears it, the castle resonating with its absent heir. The melody from the past, continuing on into the future. The father played it, and now the son keeps it going. Someday, when Wataru is gone, and Jirou still remains, the next son will pick it up and pass it on.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](http://borrowedphrases.tumblr.com/) | [Twitter](https://twitter.com/borrowedphrases)


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